La Llorona

I call her la llorona

They say her name as if she is cursed

They tremble at the sight of her

They call for help as she cries out

The time I knew I was growing up was when I met her

La llorona

We fear what we do not know so I too once feared her

They fear her by her name

Perhaps only because they feared a different tongue that they could not comprehend

But I spoke the same tongue as la llorona

Enough to know that there was more to her

The weeping woman

And even then I still feared the weeping woman for I did not know why she cried

Why she suffered

Why every time I looked into her saddened eyes, she turned away

As if too embarrassed to show her pain

I know her name

La llo- no. Mi mama.

Mom.

The time I knew I was growing up was when I saw her cry

She, the weeping woman.

She, the fighter

She, the immigrant

She, the abused

She, the hard worker

Foreign to this country,

abused at first marriage,

poor and hungry and raising a child

My mother began a second marriage with the hopes of a better life for her second child

And even then, she struggles

But she stays because taunts and humiliation hurt less than a punch to the stomach

And then I saw her

La llorona

At the time, I had not understood why she cried but that day I realized something

I realized that even Superman falls weak in the presence of Kryptonite

And even my mother, who was strong and powerful, cries.

I realized then that even the strongest of us break

But I never saw her as any less

I saw her as something more

I saw that I too will have a limit

I will face obstacles

I will face rejection

I will face loss, sadness, anger, sickness, death and everything else that came from pandora's box

But at the bottom of the box

There will still be hope

And my hope is that one day I will wipe away La llorona's tears

And to rise above so that she will be La orgullosa mama

The proud mother.